


the end refrain of some grand cosmic blueprint (we've barely even started)

by ashers_kiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Violence, details in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks him over, and she isn’t imagining it – he tilts into it ever so slightly.  When she meets his eyes, they’re very, very blue, although she suspects that has something to do with the eyeliner.  “Working tonight?”</p><p>Or, hooker!Hook.  Because yun and Nini made me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the end refrain of some grand cosmic blueprint (we've barely even started)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yunuen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunuen/gifts), [niniadepapa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniadepapa/gifts).



> This all started because yun wanted hooker!fic. She and Nini are terrible influences, this was only supposed to be a drabble! A quick, funny drabble! (You can also blame yun for the less than happy turn the whole thing took, because she said, and I quote, "make it painful and give it a happy ending".) Special thanks to Nini for looking it over for me.
> 
> Warning for violence, of a sexual, though non-graphic, nature; spoilery details can be found in the endnotes.
> 
> Title from [a poem by Elisabeth Hewer](http://elisabethhewer.co.uk/post/86777502986/i-know-you-dont-believe-in-fate-but-ive-got-to) (with a small addition).

Emma isn’t in the mood for this shit. She’s supposed to be at home, putting her kid to bed, reading him his damn story. (And then maybe a glass of wine and one of the films she’s had saved for…since Henry was in diapers, probably.) But instead, Graham has the fucking plague and Emma’s covering, driving around town like she’s nothing better to do on a Saturday night than break up the fights that spill out on to the street or earn herself dirty looks from the girls and boys very deliberately hanging about convenient alleys.

Speaking of which… Emma flashes her lights, and her siren once for good measure, but the guy doesn’t even blink. He’s practically _lounging_ against the side of the building, like he has all the time in the world, and he doesn’t move until Emma rolls up beside him. Even then he takes his time, every move designed to draw the eye to the cut of his hips in those leather pants, the length of his legs and the half-open shirt. Emma’s seen it all before, and she’s rolling her eyes before he even reaches her. She lowers her window and he props himself up with an arm on the car roof, leaning down enough that his shirt gapes _just so_.

“Evening, officer.” It’s all but a purr, and she’s sure that accent melts the knees of most of his…customers. Shame she’s had a very similar one do nothing but tell her bad jokes for five years now.

“It’s Deputy.” She looks him over, and she isn’t imagining it – he tilts into it ever so slightly. When she meets his eyes, they’re very, very blue, although she suspects that has something to do with the eyeliner. “Working tonight?”

He draws back, not enough to be called a retreat, and that dazzling smile gains a sharp edge. His voice never changes though, that same lazy drawl, and Emma’s never been a liar, but she won’t admit that something inside her does shiver at the sound. “Nah, not me. Just waiting on some mates.”

“Uh huh.” Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and oh, she should take him in, they both know exactly what this is, what _he_ is, but she knows the law, and she’d bet he knows it just as well. She hasn’t caught him doing anything, he hasn’t admitted doing anything, she’s got jack shit to charge him with. They both know that, too. It’s all there in that fucking smirk of his. “Maybe go wait inside. It’s cold out.”

He shrugs, fluid even now, and Emma wonders for a brief moment if he can ever turn it off. “Doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothers me,” she snaps, and he finally pushes away from the car, a frown starting on that pretty face and God, Emma needs a drink. “Don’t let me catch you out here again.”

“Aye aye, captain.” He salutes her with two fingers to his temple, and Emma pulls away before she does something stupid. Like – like getting out of the car. She smacks at the button to close her window, growling when it doesn’t work; when she checks her rearview, he hasn’t moved from the edge of the sidewalk. Emma grits her teeth and doesn’t look again until she turns the next corner.

If the fucking plague doesn’t kill Graham, _she_ will.

*

She runs into him again. Of course she does, because what hooker hides inside just because a cop tells them to.

Except this time she’s all but pulled out of her car by a girl with wide, scared eyes – and Emma knows her name, she does, she can see her file in her head and her name is on the _tip of her tongue_ – begging her, “Please, please, you have to come, _please_ , he’s going to – ”

Emma’s not so pissed off she’s going to ignore that (although she _is_ pissed off, she’s had beer spilled on her and blood spat at her and someone threw up almost all over her boots, she is _so_ pissed off), so she follows the girl to a depressingly familiar alley, the girl babbling the whole time about how he’s a bad one, he _knew_ that, he should never have taken him but he was trying to look after her – she doesn’t cry, Emma’s pretty impressed; _she’s_ ready to cry after that.

“Stay here,” she tells her in her firmest deputy voice, just before the alley, and the girl nods, pressing shaking fingers to her lips. Her eyes are wet, and Emma’s almost glad she has an excuse not to be here when the tears finally fall.

Except she’s not, not really, because the noises from the alley aren’t sex noises, not in any way. They’re _pain_ noises, and not the good kind. Someone isn’t having a good time, and Emma’s willing to bet it isn’t the john.

She _knows_ she’s supposed to announce herself, Graham would chew her out if he ever found out, but what comes out as she swings her flashlight round is, “Hey!” loud and angry even before she registers what she’s seeing.

Part of her is very, very glad she didn’t have her gun out, but most of her wishes she had, wishes she’d shot the bastard in the face, because he still has his fucking dick out and a knife in one hand, and the girl’s friend – the guy from before, shit, she _told_ him – he’s curled up on the ground, arm wrapped around his middle, and she was right, _he’s_ making those noises, high and desperate, as if he’s trying hard not to. The knife is slick and dark in the beam of her flashlight.

 _“Shit,”_ she spits, and then she’s scrabbling for her radio, fingers slipping on the button until Ruby’s vaguely offbeat humming comes in. “I need – Ruby, are you – I need back-up and medical, I need them _now_ – ” and Ruby’s already moving, she can tell, asking where she is over the clatter of the keyboard. Emma rattles off the address; she doesn’t dare look away from the asshole and his knife, no matter how much she needs to check – not before she has a hand free for her gun, _fuck_ – “I’ve got – I’ve got a knife-based assault, assailant still on scene. One possible – one _definitely_ injured,” she amends as there’s a short, sharp gasp, “no idea what the extent is.”

Ruby’s voice is steady, always steady, and oh, Emma loves her. “ETA’s only five minutes, they’re just on Syc– ”

Emma lets go of the radio, and she knows she’ll pay for that when she gets back to the station, but he keeps trying to push himself up, keeps making those _noises_ , and she either needs to assess the damage or get him to stay the fuck down, stop drawing the john’s attention. “Sir,” she says slowly, carefully, because the asshole’s still staring at her like a deer in fucking headlights, like he’s trapped, and as much as Emma _wishes_ she had that power, all he has to do is rush her, and someone’s going to get hurt. She takes one careful step towards them, edging towards the idiot who just _won’t stay down_. “Sir, I need you to put the knife down.”

He just blinks at her. That isn’t good, that isn’t good at all.

“Sir,” Emma repeats. “Drop the knife. Now.” She risks a glance, and fuck him for wearing all black, she can’t see shit in this light. She takes another step, almost between them, almost. If she can just get close enough, she can get him cuffed and then she can deal with – 

“Little bitch owes me money,” he says suddenly, and Emma almost jumps. “Best blowjob of my life, he said. I want my fucking money back.” He shifts forward, and Emma has her gun in hand before she even thinks, finger on the trigger before she finishes moving between them. The asshole blinks again at the sound of the safety coming off.

“Sir.” She doesn’t even aim for neutral anymore. She’s _angry_ , so angry her voice shakes with it, scrapes along the bottom of her throat and comes out a growl. “You touch him, you even _try_ to touch him, and I shoot you.”

He’s frowning now, and it should worry her that she’s close enough to see that. “Over a whore?”

“A person’s a person no matter their profession.” She adjusts her aim to his shoulder, lets him see in her face how fucking serious she is. There’s sirens nearby, maybe a few blocks away, and behind her she swears she hears a muttered, “Cheers, Deputy.”

But the asshole’s still frowning, still holding the knife ready. Too tight, Emma notes; he’s panicking, or he’s starting to. Too drunk or stupid to be entirely there yet. “I want my money,” he says again, and if he moves before she can get a round off Emma’s going to end up with her side split, and she fucking _hates_ hospitals, hates Henry having to visit her there, if she even makes it that far – 

The moment he steps forward, though, there’s something shoving past her leg and the other guy, the _injured party_ , the _idiot_ , hurls himself at the asshole’s legs, tripping him even as he makes the worst sound yet, and the bastard’s yelling, knife raised – 

Emma shoots him. Twice. Once in the shoulder, and he drops the knife with a pained yowl of his own, and once in the knee, because it drops him, and it’s close enough to his dick that she’s happy. Then she’s on her knees, separating them, shoving the knife as far away as she can manage, trying to assess the damage with hands that are suddenly shaking.

One side of the ridiculous shirt is sticky and wet, slick to the touch, and Emma knows enough about first aid to know she’s going to fuck up what clotting there has been if she tries to get a look. She tries to put pressure on where she _thinks_ the wound is, and he whines, tight between his teeth. “Shh, shh, I know,” she hushes, so much like she does with Henry after a bad dream. “I need you to stay still though, okay? The ambulance’ll be here any minute, you’ve just gotta – just stay still for me, okay?”

There’s a cut along his cheekbone and a lump at his temple, both bleeding sluggishly. Both his eyes are swollen purple, and she can’t tell if they’re closed or he just can’t open them. “Hey,” she says, and she can’t shake him, but she needs him to _stay awake_. “Hey, you’ve fucked up your eyeliner.”

There – a glimmer of blue under the purple, and when he smiles, it’s bloodstained. “Fuck you, Deputy,” he slurs. Emma bites her lip, but she can’t quite force back her own smile.

“Yeah, you wish,” she says, and then Belle is pulling her back while her partner replaces her hand with a proper pad (he jerks at the new pressure, whimpering, and something tugs deep in Emma’s chest, she doesn’t want to leave him). Her back-up’s waiting patiently, she realises. She can’t quite manage words, so she jerks her head at the john, still moaning (still not bleeding anywhere near as much as his victim). Mulan’s there without a word, cuffing the guy before making sure he doesn’t bleed out, and Lance bags the knife before radioing for another ambulance. (Ruby’s going to _kill_ her, Emma figures, but it’s a distant thought, something to deal with later, when she’s scrubbed the last of the blood from her hands with more than wet wipes.)

Then she has to take the girl’s statement, because there’s no one else free, and – truth be told, Emma expected her to be long gone. But here she is, shaking, arms folded around herself and cheeks wet with the tears that finally fell, and she has to stop talking every so often to breathe deeply. But she doesn’t leave, not even when Emma tells her she can, eyes fixed on the mouth of the alley. Emma waits with her, until Belle gives her the nod and they begin to wheel him out.

She stops the girl with a hand on her elbow. “I need to talk to him,” she says, soft as she can in the face of those big eyes, “and then you can ride with him, okay?”

The girl – her name’s Tina, Tina Bell, Emma knew she knew it – nods, chewing on her bottom lip, and Emma leaves her to slip under the tape Lance already has up (her people are _damn good_. She’s bringing in donuts tomorrow, she decides, fuck whatever Graham says about American cops and stereotypes). Belle gives her a look. “I’ll be quick,” Emma promises.

He shifts at her voice, eyes slitting open, and she thinks that might even be a smile at the bloody corners of his mouth. “My hero,” he rasps.

She means to say, “I need your name for the report” (even though Tina probably mentioned it, multiple times, and Emma could have just _asked_ ), but instead, she rolls her eyes and says, “You’re an idiot.”

That’s definitely a smile. He even attempts a shrug, before realising what a bad idea that is. “All part of my charm.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it,” she mutters. Her fingers curl around the gurney rail, close enough to touch his own if either of them reached out. There’s blood in the grooves of his rings. “I don’t know your name,” she blurts, and it’s – ridiculous, this whole _thing_ is ridiculous, she’s had enough, she just wants to go home to her kid and listen to him complain when she squeezes him too tight. But she needs…she needs to hear his name. If only to reassure herself that he’s going to be all right.

He tilts his head, and he can barely see, can barely talk (there’s bruises purpling around his throat, his collarbone, blotchy and still definitely finger-shaped), and still his smile goes softer. “Killian,” he says, and Emma feels like she can breathe again for the first time since Tina found her. “Killian Jones.”

Emma ducks her head, clears her throat. Her chest aches. “Well, Mr Jones,” she manages, and she thinks that might be a laugh, “my name’s Emma Swan, and you have someone waiting for you.” She looks up, and Mulan already has Tina inside the tape. When Emma nods, stepping away from the gurney, Tina all but flies at them, almost crashing into the gurney and drawing a pained laugh from Killian and a shout from Belle – “D’you want to be more careful, he’s been _stabbed_.” – but he wraps his good arm around her as she clings to him, face pressed into his shoulder, and Emma turns away before they lift him into the ambulance.

She’s struggling to find her keys – she _knows_ she put them in her pocket, okay, she did, she was very careful about doing so – when Mulan’s hands close around hers, pulling them free. “We’re taking you home, boss.” When Emma looks up, she smiles, soft. “Ruby’s orders.”

Emma takes a deep breath, and another. Henry won’t be up for another three hours, she can let Ashley go and curl up in the old armchair still in his room, watch him sleep for a bit. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the violence: Hook gets pretty badly beaten by a client, including being stabbed (possibly twice). The actual violence takes place off-screen, though Emma is there for the immediate aftermath (as in, she actually interrupts the attack) and then shoots the guy.
> 
> For the record, Hook totally calls Tinker Bell Teenie. It’s an Irish thing – at least, that was everyone’s excuse with my Granny, who was Christina. I’ve been called it a few times, and I’m not even the granddaughter named after her.


End file.
